


The Unsinner

by theagentshade



Category: Original Work
Genre: Angst, Bring tissues, Catholicism, Christianity, Monastery, Monks, Plague Era, Religion
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-21
Updated: 2020-09-21
Packaged: 2021-03-07 18:21:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 17
Words: 12,397
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26582077
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theagentshade/pseuds/theagentshade
Summary: A young monk finds himself questioning his faith as the Black Plague slowly approaches his hometown. He finds himself torn between faith and reality, and eventually turns to his former mentor for guidance. Little does he know that they will embark on a search for truth together, including truths that they could have never imagined.





	1. 22 August 1347

**Author's Note:**

> Pay attention to the names of the chapters; they consist of the date the entry was written on.

I am filthy. 

That is a thought that I have been meaning to confess. . .for some time. It is a thought that I should have confessed a long time ago, yet cannot imagine myself confessing in the future. My excuses for not doing so are endless; I could fill the rest of these pages with attempts of justifying my silence. However, all of these excuses can be summarized into one, one that I find myself able to justify. 

I cannot confess because I am afraid. 

Not afraid of being filthy; I dare say that my filthiness was inevitable. Rather, I am afraid of what lead me to my filth, lead me to being a sinner. 

n other words, I am a sinner because I question the word of God. 

Even now, it is difficult to pinpoint how I reached such a preposterous state of mind. I was raised within the Church; as a child, I attended Church every Sunday without fail. My parents, struggling to feed my siblings and I, often resorted to the Church for enough to eat. Once I turned 7 years old, my parents decided that I would become a monk. They found a way to enroll me into the church’s school, where I learned reading, writing, and arithmetic. Throughout all those years my faith remained strong; the Church was all I knew. I had no reason to question the Church, no reason to bite the hand that fed me. 

That is, until one day, I _did_ question them. 

It happened when I was 13, a season before I completed my education. One Sunday, the Pastor was holding a sermon regarding God’s love for everyone. I cannot remember his exact words, so I am paraphrasing, but he lectured about everyone being sinful at heart. People are born naturally inclined to sin, to go _against_ God’s word. Yet, because God loves us, we are obligated to follow His word, to fight the sin tempting us otherwise. 

Now, I do believe this was not the first time I had heard a lecture of this nature; I was aware before that God loves his children, who happen to also be full of sin. Perhaps it was my age, the wording he used, or the tone he spoke in, but as the pastor continued his lecture, a question suddenly came into mind: if people are inclined to sin, why does God love us? If we are obligated to follow God’s word, why would he create us with inclination to sin? 

These questions were not comfortable; they made my stomach clench, as while I lacked adequate answers to them, I did know such an inquisition of His word was a weighty inquisition indeed. I could not get the subject off of my mind, so when I went to confession six days later, when I entered the confession booth, I told the pastor the thoughts roaming my mind. 

While I did not walk into the confession booth expecting a positive reaction, I did not expect a reaction _nearly_ as negative as the one I received. 

The Pastor was enraged; he declared that by questioning God’s love for his children, I was questioning His word. Questioning His word is a sin, because God’s word is absolute. As for people being sinful at heart, that is because of Adam and Eve’s disobedience. Once they disobeyed God, they destined all humans to disobey God, thus making humans inherently sinful. However, He loves everyone regardless of their sinful nature; He loves us because He made us to praise Him. The challenge is to praise him while battling sin tempting us otherwise. 

In that moment, I was _scared_. I was scared that I had angered the Pastor. I was scared that I questioned God. I was scared of my sinful nature that I had exposed. Deep down, I could not deny that the Pastor’s answer did not make sense to me; aspects of it did not feel right, but I did not have the words to explain what was amiss. Had I had the words, I would have kept them to myself regardless; all I wanted was to pacify the Pastor. 

So, for my own sake, I told the Pastor I understood his answer. I confessed that I was a sinner by questioning God’s word. Of course, that confession was null, as I lied right before making it; lying is the most fundamental sin of them all. However, this did not occur to me until much later, when I was no longer cornered with fear. Fear. . .perhaps fear is the most compelling component within my predicament. 

The fear I felt in that confession booth when I was 13 was powerful in the moment; I would say it lasted around a fortnight. Yet, once the fear faded, I found myself back where I began; I was questioning all over again. 

I find it bizarre to this day that my faith had managed to remain stagnant until that moment. Yet, once I asked one question (and did not have it properly answered), I kept thinking of more. The more questions I came up with, the more sinful I felt. The more sinful I felt, the more time I spent prayer and reading His word, which lead me to more questions. 

Oh my. Most of my candle has melted. It is getting late; my window is pitch dark. I shall continue this entry when I can.


	2. 25 August 1347

Where was I. . .ah, I remember now. The height of my adolescent predicament. 

Regardless, there was so little I could do to improve my situation without angering the very people I dare not provoke. Once I turned 14, I finished my education and was approved for being initiated into the Church as a monk. Therefore, voicing my doubts to anyone involved with the Church was dubious, as I feared it would compromise my upcoming position. 

I was unwilling to lose a position I was so close to getting because, if I cannot be a monk, what can I be? I have no skills in any trade, because my parents put all their energy into continuing my education. If I were to reject the life of a monk, I would live the life of beggar; the Church would exile me, and I would put so much shame on my family, they would want nothing to do with me. 

So, here I am today. I am now 21 years old, and being a monk is all I know. 

I do not say that with shame, yet I cannot say that with pride either. This is a respected position, a position that I can always rely on, as long as I obey. Because my obedience is critical, all of the questions I had during my adolescence have turned into burdens. 

By no means have my questions stopped. My sinful nature presses onwards, filling me with doubts over what his Word says. Every day is a fight; I push those doubts aside as I submit myself to God, letting Him decide what to believe, listening to my preacher and brothers-in-Christ’s understandings of His word. With the life I have been given, I cannot live for myself; I live for God, as I owe my life to Him. 

Regardless, as much as I submit, the battle never ends. I may not lose against my sinful nature, but I do not win against it either. I remain in an ambiguous state of being a servant of God and a fighter against sin, afraid of caving into the latter more than the former. Because I have no proper place, because I am ready to cave at any time, I am filthy. 

How I have managed to keep my struggle unknown? The fact that us monks have few chances to speak has certainly assisted my cause. This has also been problematic; over the years, I have had several. . .incidents. Some of these incidents included feeling apprehension rattle in my bones as I read a verse during Bible reading that sat unwell with me. Others involved finding myself unable to sing a hymn during choir, because I felt hollow upon singing a song that is supposed to fill the room. This apprehension or hollowness would follow me throughout the day; after going to bed, I would be unable to sleep, my thoughts too dizzying to let me sleep. 

Such situations have happened enough times that I have resorting to journaling. This is the only outlet I have for my sinful thoughts. God will see them, but no one with physical authority over me will, and that is what matters to me. 

Thankfully, not all my thoughts are sinful; I do have windows when avoiding sin is not at the forefront of my mind. Before and after sermon are two of these windows, as those are the only times I am exposed to people outside of the monastery. While I am not allowed to speak to them, there is no rule against listening to them speak against each other. 

Normally, the conversations I overhear are nothing of importance; I listen for the sake of listening. However, as of recently, I have heard conversations regarding rumors about some sickness called “the Great Pestilence”. This sickness has been killing merchants that come from Asia; Asian merchants that have trekked down our trade routes for years have been disappearing, and it is supposedly because of this sickness. 

I do not have enough information to properly judge this sickness, and perhaps it is not my place to. Perhaps it is a sickness that only affects people of Asia; I do not know how long it has been around, or how many lives it is taken. If this sickness is as lethal as those rumors imply, and can affect people not of Asia, I pray that it never comes to Florence, or anywhere near it. 

I would like to know more about this sickness; the Church has not once discussed it, but I do not know of this is because they have not heard the rumors, or they simply do not consider it to be a threat. This sickness may not be prevailing in Florence, but the fact that it is prevailing and killing people in another location is threatening enough. Though I question if this is an issue I should bring up to the Pastor. . .I will sit on it. I have faith that my pastor will discuss the Great Pestilence further when he finds it required for discussion.


	3. 16 September 1347

The Church remains silent. 

The rumors of the Great Pestilence have only increased; it is the primary topic of discussion among sermon attenders. It has now spread to the Ottoman Empire, and is killing people at the same rapid pace as in Asia. This debunks my theory of the Great Pestilence’s dangers being limited to people of Asia, though I was dubious of that theory to begin with. If this sickness can kill people of the Ottoman Empire, I have no doubt that it can kill people of Europe too. 

I do not know if my fellow brothers listen to the attenders with the same attentiveness I do, or if at all. If they have, I do not know if they have addressed their concerns with the Pastor, Sub-Prior, Prior, or the Abbot. While monks rarely speak to the latter three directly, we are allowed to, especially regarding such a concerning subject. This is another downside to having very few times where we are allowed to talk; when faced with potential danger, we are unable to communicate. 

This is also the only place where I can comfortably admit to an establish rule’s downfall. Alas, because I am unaware of communication between my fellow brothers and our authorities (that is, if any communication exists), I am afraid that I have to take this task upon myself. I shall speak to my Sub-Prior tomorrow afternoon, when I am next permitted to speak.


	4. 17 September 1347

I spoke to my Sub-Prior today. Sadly, our conversation did not have yielding results. 

I phrased my concerns as gently, yet concise, as I could. I stated how I have heard churchgoers state their concerns about the spreading Great Pestilence, and to consider discussing the subject (both among monks and churchgoers) in case the sickness were to hit Florence. 

The Sub-Prior was initially baffled, as if it had not occurred to him that one of us monks had heard the rumors. He then spoke with annoyance and disappointment as he lectured me, claiming that it was not my responsibility to take such matters into my own hands, and that the Church would speak about the issue if they considered it to be important enough. 

I do not know if I was more confused or offended by his answer; either way, my filter had come down, and I asked why the Great Pestilence was not important enough now, when it has already killed many people overseas. I was instantly met with anger as the Sub-Prior merely paraphrased himself, demanding that I do not question the Church’s decisions. I had committed a sin by doing so, and that is a sin I should be strongly aware of after 7 years of monkhood. 

As I ready for bed, I remain shaken from that conversation. Oddly, I find myself far more bothered by my Sub-Prior’s anger towards me than being told that I had committed a sin. I am already a sinner by nature, filthy from all my other sins. Committing one more sin will do little more damage, as long as I confess to it. 

Yet, the pinch in my heart remains; I had never seen the Sub-Prior angry before. He has always been rather austere, yet never hostile; I have seen him have pleasant interactions with some of my brothers. To know that I was the one to cause him to lose his temper, to bring shame upon myself. . .it hurts more than I could ever confess.


	5. 15 October 1347

The Great Pestilence has hit Sicily. 

At the beginning of this month, a trading ship arrived in Messina, containing sailors that were all either infected with the sickness, or dead from it. The sight of these sailors was quite gruesome; the details I have heard suggest it was not a sight I would ever want to see, or wish upon anyone else. Messina took preventative measures, ordering everyone to stay in their homes, but it was too late; the disease has spread throughout Messina. 

This tragedy was enough to prompt the Church to speak upon this sickness. I normally would consider this to be a relief, except the Church’s input ended up not being very relieving. 

Today, the Pastor made the sickness the subject of the sermon. He began with preaching how tragic and dangerous it truly is. . .and that is it a punishment from God. The Great Pestilence is God’s way of punishing sinners who refuse to repent; the Pastor believes that is why it began in Asia, where there are no churches to teach repentance. It spread as it continued to find sinners; once it found sinners in the Ottoman Empire, it infected them. Once it found sinners from Messina, they were the next victims. 

Therefore, the best way to prevent this disease from coming to Florence is to be as sinless as possible. We must fight the sin in our hearts fiercer than even before, because now our lives truly depend on it. When we do sin, it is essential to confess, as open as we can; the cleaner our souls are, the less likely the sickness will come for us. 

I am as dubious as I am apprehensive about the Pastor’s declaration. If he is correct, then I am doomed. I have many sins that I have not confessed to, and remain reluctant to confess as to not anger the Pastor. Under such consideration, I am doomed no matter what decision I make; not confessing will make me sick, but confessing would result in the Pastor losing more trust in me, perhaps putting me under watch so I can no longer sin. 

Because the Pastor has a closer relationship to God than any of us, is more familiar with the Bible than I will ever be, I am inclined to believe that he knows this is God’s doing. 

Yet, as always, doubts linger in my mind. Perhaps this sickness is God’s doing, but it not intended to punish sinners. I have never met a person from Asia, the Ottoman Empire, or Messina; come to think of it, I have never had direct contact with a person from outside of Florence. The closest I have come to is transcribing books written by those all over Europe, though if my memory serves, each book I have transcribed was written by a devoted Christian. 

Regardless. . .I may have never spoken to someone unassociated with the Church, but does that make them full of sin? They are not aware that they are sinning. Would God, mighty Creator of all, truly punish people who are not aware their actions go against Him? From what I have read from the Bible, I cannot recall any story involving God punishing sinners with a heinous disease, though perhaps there is a story of this nature that I missed. 

My, my. . .I am speaking blasphemy! Who am I to say what God has in mind? I am doing nothing more than speculating, yet. . .it is not my place to do this. This is the Pastor’s job, which he has already done. If the Great Pestilence is God’s will, I must submit to what He wants. If He wants His children to cleanse themselves of sin, it is my obligation to do just that.


	6. 6 December 1347

The Great Pestilence ravages on. 

Fortunately, it has not hit Florence; unfortunately, it did not stay in Sicily. I have heard it has been spreading northwards from there, though slowly, because aside from Naples, there are very few big cities between Sicily in Florence. 

Life is continuing as normal in the monastery, though tension is high. Anxiety ripples through the air during every sermon, my brothers speak to one another even less than before, and the Pastor, Sub-Prior, Prior, and Abbot are having more meetings than usual. As for myself. . .I find myself lost amongst it all. 

Because of that, I turned to Him for guidance; a week after my last entry, I decided to begin reading the Bible from start to finish, in hopes to find a story similar to my reality. Since then, I have read 15 chapters every night, which is why I have gone almost two months without writing. 

I have read through most of the Old Testament, and the only story I have come across that relates to this situation is 2 Samuel 24. After King David had taken a census of potential fighting men within Israel and Judah (upon God’s request), he confessed to the Lord that he had sinned against Him and asked if He could get rid of his guilt. God gave David three choices: three years of famine within his land, three months of running from enemies, or three days of a plague. David left the decision up to God, and God chose the latter, leading 70,000 of David’s people to their deaths. 

In essence, God has aroused a plague before; however, he limited that plague to a certain area and a certain time. The Great Pestilence has met no boundaries, and has continued to spread for months. However, what I find the most intriguing was that though King David confessed to his sins, _he_ did not receive any sort of punishment. His _people_ received the punishment instead, even though they did not commit the sin. 

This means that if the Great Pestilence is a punishment from God. . .we are being punished off of someone else’s sins, someone with great authority that wants to rid himself of guilt, not off of our own sins! 

My hand begins to tremble as I voice such blasphemy; the Church would be livid if they were to come across this, yet my idea feels sound. I want to believe I am not the only one who has come across this story. . .when I run a list of names in my mind, I come across one that I could entrust with this information. Not with my other sinful thoughts, oh no, but certainly questions regarding His word. I will speak to him when I next have the chance.


	7. 14 December 1347

For once, I have enlightening news. 

I spoke to Brother Alessio the other day about 2 Samuel 24. I felt I could consult him, as he is a brother that I would consider myself close to. He became appointed as a monk at 17, when I was still a child, and we saw each other at sermon as I grew up. He was my primary mentor when I became a novice right after finishing my education, and not just any mentor. He was not instructed to be a mentor to me; he took it upon himself to assist me with adapting to life as a monk. I appreciate his mentorship to this day, as my introduction to monkhood would have been very different without it. 

I have talked to him on some occasions since I became officially appointed; I speak to him when I have the chance, but I seldom see him outside of meals and Bible study. Though I have never spoken to him about anything this significant, I know if there is one person I can turn to without (much) rebuttal in the monastery, it is him. 

It was just my luck that I found him in the library the other day, during our permitted speaking time too. I took that as an opportunity to ask him about his thoughts regarding 2 Samuel. His response was neutral, as he had not read that book for a long time, only remembering fragments of it; chapter 24 did not appear to be part of those fragments. 

So, when I showed him chapter 24, he was initially alarmed, as he was surprised this chapter did not come to his mind in the midst of our crisis. However, he did admit that he could understand where I was coming from (though reluctantly), and if my idea is true, it raises another question: just who’s confession began this plague? 

Neither of us had any ideas. I suggested that perhaps we are better off not knowing. Knowing who it was would result in us asking more questions, resulting in finding answers that we may be better off not knowing. Merely considering someone else’s confession being the answer to this plague gave both of us great discomfort, even more so because we are the only brothers to have come to this conclusion. 

By then, I did not know what to do. Out of sheer desperation, I had nearly asked Brother Alessio what should we do from there. As if he knew that I was about to ask this, he then suggested that we show this story to the Pastor. 

Had it not been for his serious tone, I would have thought he was telling a poor joke. I must have had a bemused expression, because then Brother Alessio asked why I was looking at him that way. I answered that showing the Pastor that chapter would make him angry, because that would be questioning God’s word, which also questions the Church’s decisions. 

Brother Alessio thought this was nonsense. By showing the Pastor 2 Samuel 24, we are not questioning God’s word or the Church; all we are doing is telling the Pastor our interpretation of this section of God’s word. He added how apprehensive I was towards the Pastor, mentioning how it is part of the Pastor’s job to assist one in better understanding God’s word. 

I told him about how I had never felt that way towards the Pastor, mentioning incidents of him getting angry when I questioned him or God’s word. I did not have the courage to explain what exactly I had questioned, because I feared that giving details would result Brother Alessio in siding with the Pastor. 

I am confident I saw a glint of anger in Brother Alessio’s eyes as I explained my situation. However, he kept his anger out of his tone and mannerisms as he said how I was not the only one who held a complicated relationship with the Pastor. When he first became a monk, him and the Pastor often clashed because he would ask questions the Pastor did not like. The only reason he did not get exiled from the monastery was because the Abbot is his uncle, who simply warned him to tame and lessen the frequency of his questions. 

I was _stunned_ ; I had known Brother Alessio for most of my life, yet did not know he was nearly exiled until then, or that he is the Abbot’s nephew. I did not know whether to be relieved that I am not the only one full of questions, or concerned that I am not the only brother who is a sinner. Because it is not my place to tell a brother that he is a sinner, I kept the latter to myself. 

Back to the subject at hand. Because Brother Alessio insists our interpretations do not go against the Church, we should be able to discuss the story. He offered to ask with me, as I was clearly not uncomfortable asking myself. I accepted his offer, and we plan on asking during our next Bible study. 

Alas, I would be excited if I were not so nervous.


	8. 19 December 1347

Today, Brother Alessio and I had the opportunity to show 2 Samuel 24 to the Pastor. 

We did not hesitate; moments after all the monks arrived for Bible study, the Pastor was about to announce what we were going to read, when Brother Alessio raised his hand. He requested that we cover 2 Samuel 24, as he felt that chapter has relevance to what is happening in the world. 

The Pastor reluctantly complied, turned to that page, and read it aloud. I believe he realized why Brother Alessio had suggested this verse as he was reading, his words becoming more hesitant as he read farther into the chapter. Once he finished, he stood in silence, opening and closing his mouth several times. 

A part of me was expecting Brother Alessio to raise his hand and explain our interpretation of the chapter; however, he remained silent as well. I took that as my cue to raise my hand. When called on, it took every bit of my courage to speak (respectfully) what was on my mind. 

Once I finished, the tension in the room was so thick, I could have sliced it with a sword. He began by admitting that I was not entirely wrong; David’s citizens did get the plague on his behalf. However, the citizens who perished were not necessarily innocent; because God is our good, loving creator, he did not curse citizens who were obedient and cleansed of their sin. Rather, he only cursed citizens who were sinners going against His word. In essence, the only citizens that perished were the sinners that truly deserved to be punished, because God only punishes those who deserve it. 

I said nothing in response; what was I supposed to say? I certainly could not tell him that the chapter says nothing about the plague killing only those who sinned. All it specifies is that it killed 70,000 people. Where did the claim all of them were sinners come from? 

Brother Alessio was right; all I did was discuss my interpretation. I may not have made the Pastor angry, but he gave me an answer outside of God’s word. To think how many times he has chastised my brothers and I for doing just that. . .I do not understand the Pastor at all.


	9. 10 January 1348

Much has happened since my last entry. However, I must begin with the most threatening news. 

Florence is cornered. Last month, the Great Pestilence hit Genoa. 

Florence is now under strict quarantine orders; citizens are only permitted to leave their homes if necessary, and nobody is allowed past the Florence borders. All monks have been ordered not to leave the monastery grounds for any reason. We were rarely permitted to leave before this madness, so that makes little difference to me. 

What I am most concerned about is my family. They are not as isolated as I; I worry for their safety every day. 

I realize as I write that by worrying my family would get sick, under the Church’s beliefs, that would mean they are sinners. Under my interpretation of 2 Samuel 24, that would mean that my family would get sick due to an unknown authority’s confession. Under my Pastor’s interpretation of 2 Samuel 24. . .that would mean that my family deserved it. 

All of those possibilities give me painful discomfort. Yet. . .why do none of them sound true? Even if everyone in my family is full of sin, I do not understand why God would kill them with a plague because of it. Killing them will not rid them of their sins, or cause them to sin less; one cannot sin if they are dead. 

I fully understand that I cannot know all the answers; while the Church insists the Great Pestilence is a punishment from Him, assuming that is true, we will never understand why He decided to punish us in this way. However, if this tragedy comes to affect me so personally. . .I would demand answers, even more so than now. I may not be supposed to understand, but. . .I wish I could. 

I write letters to my family weekly now, giving them as much solace and prayers as I can. They continue to pray as well, remaining holy so they do not get sick. For now, that is the best we can do. 

However, there is light amongst the gray; Brother Alessio. 

Over the past three weeks, we have bonded more than we have than in the seven years since I was appointed as a monk. It began with a deep discussion the day after the. . . confrontational Bible study. Words cannot describe the reassurance I felt when Brother Alessio revealed he felt the same way I did; there was _nothing_ in 2 Samuel 24 suggesting that the 70,000 plagued people were sinners. He admitted that he found some of the Pastor’s preaching to be dubious, but this was the most dubious session he had witnessed in a while. 

Both of us sat in silence, itching to ask a question that if anyone else were to hear, could get us exiled. In the end, we snapped and asked each other simultaneously: is the Pastor truly closer to God than the rest of us? 

It was such an uncomfortable question; my gut clenched, insisting that perhaps, the Pastor was no closer to God’s truth than us brothers. My head screamed otherwise, that yes, of course he knew better, why should we judge him based off his interpretation of one chapter? 

I gathered the heart to ask Brother Alessio the latter. After a moment of thought, he responded with, “Because he judges us off of _our_ interpretation.” 

My mind went blank. Brother Alessio had put the feelings I have had since I was 13 into words, and at the time, I did not know how to react. 

My expression turning as stunned as I felt, Brother Alessio asked if I was alright. Once I gathered my composure, I told him how that had never occurred to me before, yet he was right. He admitted that had not occurred to him until a minute before, either, along with intense guilt for vocalizing his doubt of the Pastor’s abilities. I felt guilty too; surely this was a sin. 

But if it was a sin, why did it ring with truth? 

As we sat in silence once more, another question suddenly came to mind: I asked in Brother Alessio trusted me. I already knew the answer, because he would not have said something so profound if he did not. Regardless, I needed his confirmation. He said that he did trust me; in fact, I was one of his few brothers that he placed any trust in. 

My heart swelled as I told him I felt the same way; after all, he had been my mentor. I trusted him before, and with our shared predicament, my trust has increased. It increased enough to reveal that, since late October, I have been reading 15 chapters of the Bible every night, from start to finish. I explained how I began to do this in search of an answer to the Great Pestilence, 2 Samuel 24 being the only verse I found relevant so far. 

As I spoke, I could sense the pieces coming together in Brother Alessio’s mind; it explained why I had spontaneously come up to him asking about 2 Samuel. He admired my dedication; he and most of the brothers only read the Bible during Bible study and sermon. However, my dedication inspired him to read the Bible in its entirety as well. He offered us to meet in the library every Tuesday and Friday night from then on, for us to discuss our findings and interpretations of the chapters he had read. He will not be able to catch up to me, as I am already mid-way through the New Testament, though because I have read the Old Testament in full, I imagine we will have some rich discussions. 

I beamed as I accepted his offer; I cannot remember the last time I had smiled so wide. We remained together, enjoying a comfortable, relaxed silence until it was time for us to sleep. 

Since then, letters from my family and meetings with Brother Alessio are the only events I look forward to. Sermon, Bible study, and confession are more brutal than ever; I sit through sermon, cautious of every claim the Pastor preaches. I sit through Bible study, careful not to let the guilt of my own interpretation break through. I sit through confession, confessing of sins I have never committed, while sitting on sins begging to be confessed. Throughout all of them, I force myself to uphold one and one trait alone. 

I am silent.


	10. 6 February 1348

As of yesterday, the Great Pestilence has arrived in Florence. 

Florence did everything they could to keep the city safe; we restrained it for as long as we could. I knew this day was coming since October, on the dreadful day the plague arrived in Messina. Yet, my predictability only makes me feel worse; I knew it would happen, with nothing I could do prevent it. 

Now that the plague is here, no person is permitted to enter or exit the monastery for any reason. The only exception is the messenger, who is only allowed to leave every Monday to deliver and receive letters, meaning I can continue my weekly letters to my family. However, I do not expect this exception to last, if this plague is as bad as the rumors suggest. 

Sermons are on hiatus, though we are still required to confess every Saturday night. Bible studies continue, but are done in smaller groups during multiple parts of the day. The Church insists that we continue to pray, confess, and cleanse as much as we can, as those are the only ways to keep the plague from entering the monastery. Brother Alessio and I remain skeptical as ever regarding the truth of these claims; however, we keep these thoughts to ourselves. 

Speaking of Brother Alessio. . .we continue to hold our Bible discussions in secret. I worry that he comes to our sessions out of self-inflicted obligation rather than out of pleasure, as he always shows up later than I. However, once we begin speaking, it is clear that he is excited to speak to me, and is curious towards what I have to say, so I do not fret over it. 

I have finished reading the Bible in its entirety; he is near the end of the Old Testament. With every session, we do not find ourselves closer to God; if anything, we find ourselves more distant from the Church’s teachings. The Church teaches that God loves everyone, yet according to the Bible, He has done vicious deeds to those who defied him, whether intentionally or accidentally. I would never hurt someone that I love, even if they defied me. The Church teaches that children are a blessing, yet according to the Bible, foolishness is bound within the heart of a children, and that they must be trained to become good. How can an inherently bad being also be a blessing? Neither Brother Alessio nor I understand how this is possible. 

When I find myself anxious about people I care about, I bring my thoughts back to God, wanting to put my faith in Him. But then I ask myself, how can I put faith in someone who does not provide any answers? Someone who I feel no closer to, after putting in an immense amount of effort into understanding Him? Someone who has put me through so much pain? 

I cannot deny it; my life may not be as bad as it could have been, but ever since that day in confession when I was 13. . .every day has included pain. It hurt to ask questions within the confines of my mind, feeling guilt and shame over all the sin I was doing. It hurt to confess over deeds I am told are sinful, as well as to hide other sinful deeds. It hurt to lie about sinning when I did not sinful deeds that week, which was a sadly frequent occurrence when I was a child. It hurt to make my authorities angry, to be told that I had sinned with so much scorn, so much disappointment. It hurts to go every day keeping my newly formed opinions to myself. It hurts to know people are dying with their sin being blamed. It hurts to know that could happen to my family, Brother Alessio, or _me_. If God loves me, why did He put so much pain into my life? 

God must hurt me because He loves me.


	11. 10 February 1348

I must write about what happened today. It was more. . .insightful than I could have imagined it being. Where do I begin. . . 

Alessio and I held are usual biweekly Bible discussions. Though, our discussions have slowly began to sway in a different direction. While our discussions always begin with the Bible, somewhere along the way, they take a different turn. We have found ourselves talking about our siblings, the food we like, games we played as children. . .normal conversations that I have not had in a long time. 

Amongst our conversations, we try not to discuss the plague, as it is an exhausted subject, and we our each other’s primary source of relief. However, before we began our Bible discussion earlier today, he brought up the subject, as he suggested that we have a plan, should the plague enter the monastery. While it is not a situation I would like to imagine, because that is a very likely possibility, I agreed, though I was not sure what plan we should have in mind. 

He proposed that should the plague enter, we flee the monastery altogether. This is not something we are not comfortable doing, as monks are not allowed to leave the monastery without the Abbot’s permission. Though considering that our lives would be at stake, both of us believe it is justified. That raises the question regarding where we would stay. As much as he would like to, Brother Alessio is hesitant about getting his family involved; because his uncle is the Abbot, if any of Brother Alessio’s family members were to reveal our plan to the Abbot, or were to tell him about our whereabouts after fleeing, we are doomed. 

Meanwhile, if I do not count myself, my family has no direct involvement with the Church. They have little money, even less now that neither my parents nor working-age siblings generate income. Regardless, my parents would take any means necessary to keep me alive, and would welcome Brother Alessio with open arms, as he is someone I care deeply about. 

While I believed this was a sufficient plan, Brother Alessio has a talent of being one step ahead of me. He assured me that he did not believe my family would become ill, nor would he ever wish them so. He simply wants to be as cautious as he can be; therefore, in case my family falls ill, we should have an additional location to flee to. 

I took no offense, as caution has become crucial; however, when attempting to conjure any potential locations, my mind came to a blank. I frowned as I admitted to being unable to think of another location. For someone who has lived in Florence for his whole life, I know very little of it; the only places I remember distinctly are the street my family lives on, the markets near my family’s home, and the monastery. 

Brother Alessio was not disappointed, which I expected him to be. Rather, he was unsurprised. He told me that I am not the only brother to have little knowledge of his hometown. I am from a poor family, was educated by the Church, and entered monkhood as soon as I was eligible; I was raised in isolation. Many of my brothers were raised in a similar fashion; they were born in an economically and socially isolating environment, allowing them to be a prime target for this occupation. He admitted to occasionally forgetting how isolated many of our brothers are, because he was one of the few who was not raised in such an environment. 

It had never occurred to me until then that I knew nothing of Brother Alessio’s past. I knew that he entered monkhood at 17, later than those who were educated to become monks, but had never questioned why. Had I made this connection towards any of my other brothers, I would have kept it to myself. In this case, because it was Brother Alessio, I felt comfortable asking him what led him to becoming a monk. 

His answer is one I would never have guessed; he had been educated at home through a private tutor, not by the Church. Once he turned 14, he began training to become a roofer, destined to inherent his father’s roofing business. By 17, he had nearly completed his training, and worked with his dad regularly. Unfortunately, that was when his potential career came to a tragic end; he fell off the top of a ladder and injured his leg. The injury was severe and never healed properly, leaving him unable to inherent the business. In the end, his parents contacted his uncle and requested that he be accepted as a monk, one of the few occupations his injury allowed him to do. To this day, the Abbot is the only other person within the Church who is aware of his injury; he was reluctant to tell even me, as he worried it would change the way I see him. It also would make it difficult for him to flee; if fleeing becomes a necessity, he does not want to burden me with his slow pace. 

This is the only time I intervened into his story; I told him that his injury is a hurdle we can face if the need to flee comes to arise, he could never be a burden to me. I also mentioned we do not need to meet in the library of walking there pains him; we can meet in his quarters instead. Brother Alessio smiled as he accepted my offer, his body relaxing for a moment before he continued. 

He says the timing for his appointment could not have been better; it was at his most vulnerable state. Once appointed, the Church easily convinced him that this was God’s will, that He _wanted_ him to become a monk, and had allowed him to get injured to sway him on to that path. At the beginning, Brother Alessio believed every word; he felt he had to, because he could not think of another explanation regarding why he faced such a terrible injury. His injury affects him to this day; his leg becomes sore after a certain amount of walking, so he only leaves his quarters if he must. When he does, he walks slowly to lessen the chance of triggering pain. This explains why I rarely see him, and why he always comes to our Bible discussions later than I do. Back to his story. . .Brother Alessio’s blind belief did not last long. He began to notice inconsistencies within the Pastor’s preaching and God’s word; he even found God’s word to be contradictory in itself. Because he never heard any of our brothers discuss said inconsistencies, even outside of the Pastor’s presence, he became convinced that he was the only monk who thought this way. This did not stop him from telling the Pastor the inconsistencies he found (most often during confession) and questioning his interpretation of God’s word. 

His questioning never ended well; it would result in the Pastor either telling Brother Alessio he was a sinner for doubting God’s word while avoiding the question, or giving him an answer in a condescending, disappointed tone that made him feel ashamed for asking. Nonetheless, he never backed down for long; as soon as the shame dissipated, he would resume questioning all over again. It took him almost getting exiled to get him to stop. 

Since then, he had become a shell of his former self. He went from an inquisitive, eager boy to a solemn, lonely adult, resigning himself to the constant shame of all of his sins. If there was one thing he wanted, it was that he _never_ wanted another brother to feel the way he did. 

So, 8 years ago, when he overheard the Pastor complaining to the Sub-Prior about me having questioned his sermon, his heart sank. He knew that I was a student of the Church who would enter monkhood as soon as he graduated, and worried that I one day would find myself feeling the way he did. As he laid in bed that night, he came up with a plan; once I was appointed as a novice, he would volunteer to mentor me. While mentors among novices are not common, there are no rules against them; therefore, when Brother Alessio asked the Abbot if he could mentor me, he saw no reason to refuse. 

While Brother Alessio did genuinely want me to succeed as a monk, he also wanted me to have an older, more experienced brother that I knew I could rely on, should I ever find myself questioning and feeling isolated. He smiled, ever so bittersweetly, as he admitted that the day I came up to him asking about 2 Samuel was the day he had been waiting for, for the past 8 years. 

As he finished his story, emotions were bubbling within my chest; I was experiencing too many to properly describe. Before I knew it, tears were streaming down my face, and I embraced my dear Alessio, burying my face into his chest as I lost all composure. 

Alessio returned my embrace, hugging me tight as he let me cry. I did not need to respond to him with words; my actions were enough to tell him that I could not be more grateful for a man like him. He is the best mentor I could have ever had. With Alessio by my side, I am assured that I will never be alone.


	12. 12 February 1348

Frossino, my dear youngest brother, has caught the Great Pestilence. 

I received a letter from my mother today announcing this news, the letter itself having been written yesterday. He may be still alive, but I am not allowed to return home to say goodbye to him one last time. If Frossino is sick, sooner or later, the rest of my family will be too. . . 

I have no words. My family being exposed to the plague is a tragedy in itself, but the fact that my youngest siblings is the one who caught it first. . .it shatters my heart into thousands of pieces. Some of these pieces spilled into my reply; I expressed as much love as I could into words. I reassured them that the plague has yet to enter the monastery, and how Alessio and I have a plan to escape if it does. 

I am now confident that the plague cannot be a punishment of sin, because Frossino is not a sinner; he is too young to properly understand what a sin is. Any sin he does is unintentional and deserves to be forgiven. The Church says God loves children, but a God who would punish an innocent child in such a vile manner. . .that is _not_ a God worth devoting my life to. 

I used to find the thoughts I am expressing how to be sinful; I recall how guilt would ripple through me, how much I would despise myself for considering such arguably blasphemy. Now, I do not feel sinful; my guilt is an emotion of the past. I am angry. I am bitter. I am vengeful. I have every right to be, and even if I did not, I am _not_ alone. My thought are not, never were, and never will be an exception; Alessio feels the very same way I do, even more so since I went to his quarters and showed him the letter. 

His expression pained as I watched him read. I felt myself on the verge of crying, yet no tears would come out; I simply felt empty, as if I were a walking corpse whose soul had departed. Once he finished reading, he handed the letter back to me. He sighed; he knew there was nothing he could say to improve the situation, and was simply thinking of wording that would not make me feel worse. He began by saying how us fleeing to my family’s home was out of the question now, though I had nothing to fret. Because our initial conversation regarding our escape plan took a detour, it was not until then when he mentioned he knew another location. 

It turns out that there is an inn on the outskirts of Florence; Alessio knows about it because he assisted his dad in repairing its roof before his injury. The inn is close enough to walk to within a day, but far enough to be outside of Florence’s official borders. Because of this, it is not under mandated quarantine like the rest of the inns in Florence are. We imagine that not many people are staying there at this time, but that makes it an even better place to escape to. 

While there are currently no confirmed cases within the monastery, Alessio suggests that we contact them quickly so that if we _do_ need to leave, they know to expect our arrival. We have not written a letter yet, but we have a fair amount of time to write it, because we cannot send it until Monday. 

With our plan settled, that rose the question of our Bible sessions. Alessio has reached Revelation, the final book of the New Testament; assuming he finishes it by tomorrow, that would ideally be the last of our Bible sessions. Except, we have become so close, we do not want to stop seeing each other, and have no reason not to. If anything, we have more time than ever before; the entire city being shut down gives us monks less responsibilities, and our authorities are too stressed to keep everyone accountable regarding their remaining duties. 

Therefore, when it comes to our extra spare time, Alessio and I would rather spend it with each other; he is the only person I have left. There are my other brothers, but they are only my brothers within the Church; the moment I leave the Church, I will no longer be associated with them. My authorities have proven themselves untrustworthy, and my family. . .ah, I would rather not think about them at the moment. Whatever happens to them. . .Alessio is here to support me. If I cannot pull through myself, I can pull through for him.


	13. 19 February 1348

My dear Frossino is dead. 

Those were the very first words in the letter I received from my family today. It will not end with him either; my eldest brother and sister have fallen ill as well. My mother and father expect to get sick any day now; they have accepted that they have met their end. All they hope is that I remain alive. Like always, I reply to them saying how much I love them, how I remain healthy, and still have Alessio and I’s escape plan in the back of my mind. 

Unfortunately, I wrote and submitted this letter a little too soon. 

Alessio and I were in his room together, talking about childhood memories, simply to have a subject light and fun to discuss. Out of the blue, the Pastor barged in, causing Alessio and I to jump out of our skins. Aside from not thinking anyone would enter, we were nervous because we were worried that the Pastor had discovered our meetings and was here to punish us. My mind jumped to conclusions, panicking that the Pastor somehow knew that I was there and wanted to scold me. 

However, even when he clearly saw me, he did not address me. Rather, he brought all of his attention to Alessio; apparently, the Abbot wanted to speak to him in his quarters about something urgent, and to meet him there immediately. I began to feel relieved; it appeared that the Pastor was too distracted to care that I was in a brother’s room. That relief ceased when I noticed a trail of liquid trail down the Pastor’s arm and drip past his palm. I initially could not tell what this liquid was, but something in my gut told me that it was not water. I waited until Alessio and the Pastor were nearly done speaking before hesitantly pointing it out. The Pastor was mildly alarmed, lifting his arm before pulling his sleeve down. Upon doing so, all three of us stopped dead on our tracks. 

On his lower arm was a _bubo_ , leaking with a clear-white liquid. In other words, confirmation of the Great Pestilence. 

For what felt like ages, silence had never sounded so deafening. The Pastor’s body began to tremble. He let out a scream as he began to sink on to the ground, wailing as he broke into tears. 

As Alessio and I remained frozen with fear, we heard the sounds of running footsteps come to our doorway. Before we knew it, the Pastor was surrounded with my brothers. Some of them could not take their eyes off of the _bubo_ ; others wasted no time taking action, assisting the Pastor in getting back to his feet before gently escorting him to his room. 

Once the sounds of the Pastor’s cries faded, Alessio and I looked at each other in despair. That was certainly not how we expected to be faced with the plague in-person. All the prayers in the world did not prevent it. All the confessions of sins did not prevent it. All of the good deeds my brothers and I have done, whether to please themselves, God, or the Church. . .were for nothing. 

I cannot say any of the good deeds _I_ have done were for God, because. . .I do not know who God is anymore. I dare say I would rather _not_ know who He is; how could an eternal, loving, kind creator do something so cruel, or allow this to happen? I cannot fathom it.


	14. 22 February 1348

The monastery is in chaos. 

The Pastor was declared dead this morning. Several of my brothers have been infected and are confined to their quarters, and majority of my non-infected brothers refuse to leave their quarters. Responsibilities have become a concept of the past; in this monastery, it has become every man for himself. 

Well, except for Alessio and I. We continue to have each other. 

It is very clear that our plan will have to come into fruition. However, one issue remains; we have yet to receive a reply from the inn. Our guess is that the messenger has been unable to deliver it, as walking to the inn and back would take him nearly two days. Aside from that, with the plague inside the monastery, I imagine many (if not all) my brothers are writing their last goodbyes to their families. Therefore, it will take our messenger a while to get our letter to the inn, and then we have to wait for the inn to reply to us as well. 

Alessio insists that I do not worry; the owners will understand if we flee without waiting for their reply. His only concern is that we flee the monastery prepared; we do not know the inn’s food situation, so we must bring as much food and water as possible, and a fair amount of money. While the inn would likely give us a discount due to their lack of customers and us having worked for the Church, we are unsure of how much they charge, or if we may need money for any other reason. 

Food and water are easy enough to attain, now that the kitchen is no longer being monitored. The money is another story; every monk has a very tight allowance, certainly not enough to comfortable escape with. As both of us considered how to get more funds, I believe we came up with the same idea at the same time, an idea neither of us liked. Tension filled the air as we waited for the other to say it; to my dismay, I snapped first. 

“Well. . .any of our brothers that perish. . .will not have a need for their allowance.” 

“That is true. . .I do not feel any more comfortable about this than you do, but we are left with such few options.” 

This rose the question in how we could get ahold of other allowances; normally, when a brother dies, any money they have is sent to their family. However, if they have no family, the money goes back to the Church. It is safe to assume that many of my brother’s families are already dead, or will be soon. Meaning. . . 

“Hold on. I just remembered. When the Pastor entered my room yesterday. . .I was supposed to see my uncle. But after. . .that happened, I became so distracted that I forgot.” 

“That’s right. But. . .what does the Abbot have to do with this? Does he. . .” 

Alessio nodded before he replied. “He has access to all of the Church’s money. I assume he still needs to speak to me. If I use that as an excuse to go to the Abbot’s quarters. . .I can wait until he is asleep and then look for any money. The Sub-Prior and Prior are unlikely to intrude with everyone keeping distance from one another. But in case they do, I will have an excuse for my presence, and they are more lenient with me due to being the Abbot’s kin. I do not know exactly where the money is stored, but as long as I do not wake up the Abbot, I will have enough time to find it.” 

My heart panged with guilt; not because I felt sinful, but because on a fundamental level, this was wrong. But it is the only way to ensure our survival. The panging worsened as I noted about how none of our brothers were announced dead yet; we have to wait a little longer before we can. . .steal their money. 

As I voiced this reality, Alessio released the largest sigh I have heard him make. What he said next is a phrase I will remember for the rest of my life: “You are correct. We are waiting for our brothers to die.”


	15. 25 February 1348

Five of my brothers are dead. 

My grief swells like a giant, bleeding wound; I feel drained, exhausted no matter how much I sleep. I grieve knowing there is more death to come; most of the brothers I can think of at the moment have become infected. I will find out any news regarding my family when their letter arrives tomorrow, though I can already guess what the news will be. . . 

Alessio and I spend the day within the confines of his room, talking about everything but what is surrounding us. Our Bible sessions feel as if they happened so long ago. . .we have not talked about the Bible since he finished Revelation last week, nor do we want to. I cannot think of a time where God was this irrelevant in my life; as it turns out, it is quite difficult to consider the feelings of someone who has never spoken to me when my own life is on the line. 

As for our escape plan, Alessio plans to speak to the Abbot tomorrow. We believe that the funds of five dead brothers (combined with our own) will be enough for us to escape comfortably. Tomorrow is also when the messenger arrives, so we can see if the inn has replied to us. Even if they have not, we will flee on Tuesday night; we simply want to know _if_ they replied before our departure. 

I spent the past few days waiting for death. Now, I am waiting for the chance to live.


	16. 26 February 1348

I…do not have a proper way to begin this entry. 

My day started with a letter from my family. As of Saturday, all of my siblings are dead (except for my older sister, but she is very sick) and my parents are beginning to show symptoms. Knowing this was the last letter they would ever write to me, they poured all of the love and compassion they could into that letter; their only wish is that I do not get sick, and that I escape. 

I spent the entirety of this morning sobbing over their words. No amount of tears will bring them back or cure them of the plague, yet they would not stop coming. Alessio comforted me the best he could; he held me, stroking my hair as I cried into his chest. It did not help that there was no letter from the inn either. I had considered asking the messenger about it after he delivered the letter from my parents, but he ran off in a hurry before I could speak. 

As for Alessio. . .he is such a precious man. He would have spent the entire day comforting me if he did not have another task at hand. 

I waited in his room as he did what he needed to. I believe he was only gone for a few hours, but it felt like an eternity. It was during that time when I remembered how alone I used to feel before I approached Alessio on that fateful day; how did I cope with feeling so lonely for so long? Now that I had someone by my side, I found it difficult to imagining going through life that lonely again. 

I will say now, there is a reason that I phrased that last sentence in the past tense. 

When entered his room with five pouches of money in hand, I had nearly congratulated him. However, I immediately noticed that his expression was pained and solemn, which was strange considering he had succeeded in completing a potentially dangerous mission. I also noticed his clothes were damp; why were his clothes damp? 

So, instead of congratulating him, I asked what was wrong. 

Alessio began with saying that his plan had run perfectly; he entered the Abbot’s office claiming that the Pastor had told him last week that he wanted to speak to him. The Abbot looked confused for a moment, then suddenly remembered; he had wanted to speak to Alessio about me, primarily how he had noticed us to spending a lot of time together. Alessio said he tried to remain calm, asking if us spending time together was an issue. The Abbot gave an ambiguous answer, claiming that this was a conversation he had planned to have before he was aware the plague had entered the monastery. Now with several brothers dead and many more ill, as long as neither of are ill, it was not his concern if we spent time together. 

When the Abbott dismissed him, Alessio pretended to leave; in reality, he hid behind a corner as he waited for the Abbot to retire to his bedroom. Once he was assured the Abbot was asleep, he snuck into his office, carefully looking through every shelf and cupboard. He was not sure how long he searched, but he had long enough to consider that the Church’s money was not in there. He was about to give up, turning to the door to leave, when something caught his eye. 

In the gap between a bookshelf and a wall, there was something that could be best described as a door within a wall. Alessio inspected the area, pushed the bookshelf enough to get better access. On the opposite side of the door-well was a handle that went inwards; once he stuck his hand into it and pulled forward, the door opened. 

Inside was not only stacks of money, but five small _pouches_ of money. Pouches that only the monks use for their allowance. Alessio took the pouches, closed the door, and pushed the bookshelf back to its original place before scurrying out of there. 

Had everything gone our way, that is where the story would end. 

When Alessio was making his way back to his room, his injured leg began to hurt; he had walked beyond his limits. When he paused to rest, he had put his hand on the nearest wall for support. Normally, this would not have been an issue; however, he had happened to stop in front of the quarters of one of our infected brothers. This brother had been consistently vomiting, to the point where he must had filled his vomit bucket, because there was enough vomit on his floor to be spilling through the crack under his door. Alessio, not noticing the puddle until it was too late, stepped into it. When realizing his mistake, he tried to step out of it; however, he had moved his leg away and his arm off the wall at the same time, causing him to lose his balance, slip, and fall into the puddle. 

He had rushed (as fast as his leg allowed him) to the bathhouse right away; he used one of the foot tubs to wash his clothes as he cleaned himself in one of the regular tubs. Because the pouches had been hidden inside his front gown pocket, they had not come in contact with the vomit, and had removed them from the pocket before washing his gown. Therefore, the money is safe, but he cannot say the same for himself. 

I felt my eyes well up with tears all over again as Alessio said, “With such direct contact with the plague. . I may fall ill too. If that happens, flee without me.” 

I sobbed as I insisted that perhaps he will get lucky; we cannot know for sure that he is sick until a _bubo_ appears on his skin, never mind that the inn has not replied to us. But all Alessio did was shake his head. 

“We may not know for sure right now. But as soon as a _bubo_ appears. . .you _must_ leave. And in case that happens, you may have my allowance.” He had reached underneath his mattress, dug his hand around, then handed me his pouch. 

I did not have the energy to argue; all I could do was sit on his bed and cry. He placed the pouches on my lap, telling me to take them before he gathered me in his arms once again. He held me a little farther than before; I would have done anything to place my head on to his chest again, but for my own sake, I could not. I let him hold me as close as he as able to, his fingers gently wiping my tears away. 

As we sat in silence, I could not shake the sense declaring that would be the last time I would ever see or touch Alessio.


	17. 27 February 1348

Alessio has come down with the Great Pestilence. 

I had my last conversation with him when I knocked on his door. For the first (and only) time, he told me not to come in, and I already knew why. 

“I woke up. . .with two _bubos_ on my leg. . .” 

I froze, remaining silent. My hands began to tremble; before I knew it, the rest of my body followed, and I fought the urge to weep. The only words I could get myself to utter were, “I’m sorry. . .” 

“Please, do not apologize. This is not your fault. Neither of us could have known. . .” Alessio began coughing violently, resuming once his coughing ceased. “My dear Marcello. . .thank you.” 

“What are you thanking me for?” 

“For taking me. . .on such a wonderful journey. Our Bible sessions. . .they put Bible study with the Pastor to shame. I may have been your mentor, but. . .you were a mentor to me too. You have changed my thinking on God in a way that the Church was never able to; even as I descend towards my death, I do not understand who God is, nor am I assured that I will see Him once I pass. But that is not important. . .as knowing that I made the most with the end of my life. Out of anyone I could have spent the end of my life with. . .you were the best candidate.” 

I could restrain the tears no more. “Alessio. . .” 

“I believe you will survive this tragedy. Once it is over. . .you have a long life ahead of you. I do not suggest you become a monk elsewhere. . .” He violently coughed once more. “You have too much potential to resign yourself to a life of scarcity. With your long life and your beautiful soul. . .look for every opportunity to do good in the world.” 

I had not considered what I would go after the plague until then; I had not as much as considered that I would _survive_ it. I could not deny that, at my core, Alessio’s words rang true. 

“Marcello. Put your hand on your heart.” 

When I told him I had done so, he continued. 

“During your darkest times, in the midst of your deepest fears. . .that is where I will be. If you ever need me. . .put your hand on your heart, and I will be there. I love you, Marcello. Thank you, for everything.” 

“Alessio, I. . .” I swallowed a sob. “Thank you. I love you too, more than you will. . .ever know. I wish. . .” 

“I know, you wish. . .we could flee together. But my fate is sealed. Please, leave for the inn tonight and never look back. I will be with you in spirit.” 

We spoke for a little longer, sharing as many loving, endearing words as I could find. I would have stayed until dark, had not the Abbot showed up at the head of the hallway. I did not wait for him to speak to me; as soon as I saw him walking down the hall, I said my final goodbye before returning to my quarters. 

I have never been in so much pain in my life. I did not think loving someone could consist of this much pain. Hurting this much makes me wish I could die as well. Yet, the last of my will insists that I survive; if I die, all of my memories of my family and Alessio will die too. If they cannot live physically, I will let them live within the confines of my mind, because I love them too much to let them go. 

Perhaps I will strive towards the dream that was taken from Alessio; maybe I could become a roofer. I could not inherit his father’s business, but I could be hired as an apprentice, learn the craft well enough to eventually start my own roofing business. . . 

Now is not the time for such thoughts. All that matters is that I flee to the inn, and speaking of the inn, I have one piece of good news: they responded to Alessio and I’s letter. I received the response from the messenger this afternoon, who told me this is the last letter he will ever deliver (he says he has no _bubos_ yet, but has began to feel ill and is expecting them to show up). That was the reason he had run off in a hurry yesterday morning; he wanted to get to and from the inn on time, and having caught the plague, breaking the Monday-delivery only rule no longer mattered to him. 

As for the response. . .the inn accepted our request. Like Alessio and I predicted, their fees are drastically lowered; they also have few patrons as of late. However, many of their currently patrons were in a similar situation to mine. They ended the letter stating, “Both of you are more than welcome to stay, if you remain healthy. If this is the case, we will be expecting the both of you shortly.” 

Alas, I can only imagine their pity when I am the only one who shows up. . .but I am digressing. 

The sun is setting, and I have everything packed except for this journal, ink, and my candle. I do not know what will happen to me once I flee, as I have come to realize I do not know much of anything. Nonetheless, if there is one thing that I do know, it is this. 

I am free.


End file.
